A Man of Our Kind: The Swithen Book One

By Scott Telek

The birth of Merlin.
The betrayal of Britain.
Two threads intertwine. The Swithen begins.

Are you ready to embark on a reading journey unlike any other? The longest, most cohesive interpretation of real Arthurian legend—faithful to the Medieval sources of the years 1136 to 1485—begins here.

The devil wants a man on earth to lure people into temptation. He chooses an innocent woman to bring his child into the world. That woman, Adhan, soon finds her life turned into a nightmare as a demon picks off her family one by one, drawing ever closer to her. Soon the demon’s work is done—in a time when an illegitimate child incurs the punishment of death—and she is desperate to save her own life while thwarting the devil’s plans for her child. But the demon who attacked her didn't count on her indomitable strength—or the unique gifts of her incredible son... a child that will become Merlin, the greatest wizard of all time.

Elsewhere, evil mastermind Vortigern treacherously twists the natural succession to install himself as king, sending young heirs Pendragon and Uther (King Arthur’s future father) into hiding. When armies of Saxons arrive seeking to settle and slowly conquer Britain, Vortigern allows them in, even marrying the daughter of their leader. As the tyrant king kills this person and betrays that one, it becomes not a matter of when he will be overthrown, but which of his rapidly-multiplying enemies will do it.

This new novel is a completely rewritten version of “Our Man on Earth,” the former Swithen Book One, and includes the Vortigern story for the first time while completely transforming the previous book’s contents, including changing Merlin’s mother’s name from Meylinde to Adhan, a name located in an obscure Arthurian source.

Combining elements of horror, fantasy, action and unexpected humor, this novel contrasts an intimate tale of faith and mother-son tenderness with the violent story of a tyrant king running Britain asunder in his quest for power. It brings the world of Britain in the year 450, when magic was as real as the air we breathe, to life for the present day—and offers fresh insights into the characters and stories we thought we knew so well.

Faithful to the Arthurian literature of the Medieval age, this is the starting point of an unprecedented 25-novel interpretation of the real legend of King Arthur (the first five available now). The Swithen retains the weirdness, mystery and entrancing beauty of the original Medieval tales while filling in the character development and connecting material they are missing. Join the saga as it begins and discover why this story has endured for a thousand years.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scott Telek
• Release date: Aug 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9780999677384

Scott Telek

Scott Telek is a writer, artist and filmmaker. He has been writing professionally for over 20 years, while also writing fiction, film reviews, doing oil painting and creating films. He has always been interested in legend and folklore, which led to his obsession with the lore of King Arthur.Telek takes a different approach to epic fantasy, which usually invents new stories taking place in the Arthurian world. Telek's interest is in honoring the ancient tales by retaining the plot, story, and weirdness of the original legends from nearly a thousand years ago, but filling in the character and psychology in ways that are compelling to modern readers, but missing from the Middle English sources. That way, readers get to know the real King Arthur of lore, with all the grandeur, magic and romance that modern, made-up stories simply cannot match.You may think you know all about King Arthur--but you don't. Sure there's swordfights, honor and romance. But there's also a lot of magic, psychological intrigue, supernatural occurrences and unexplained phenomena that make this much more "Twilight Zone" than "Camelot." And the entire, decades-spanning plot, with multiple interlocking storylines, was completed over a thousand years ago--so it's all going somewhere, and it's all been thought through, right to the very end. No making up as we go along!Enter The Swithen at book one, which details the real origin story of Merlin--laid down 800 years ago! Book two finds Merlin preparing Britain for the coming of Arthur, and at the end of book three, Arthur is born. Get on for the ride as we see Arthur rise, unite Britain, marry Guinevere, form the Knights of the Round Table, be betrayed by Lancelot, and be there are the whole thing comes crashing down, in the most monumental, epic, intricate and moving tale of a civilization's rise and fall ever set down.

Book preview

A Man

of Our Kind

The Swithen: Book One

By Scott Telek

Praise for The Swithen series

After decades studying and teaching many versions of the Arthurian legends, this is the most realistic and compelling.

– Joanne V., Facebook recommendation

Absolutely engrossing! It brings me into the medieval world as other versions of the Arthurian legend haven't.

– Starborne, Amazon review

This has everything that the original legends needed without altering them. The author gives the characters a development and depth that tends to be lacking in ancient stories. Particularly, the motivations and machinations of female characters is often absent in ancient tales, leaving them with a very hollow presence. But, the books’ ability to make these characters compelling without altering the source of the legends make these a uniquely enjoyable read… You'll understand how these stories survived to inspire generations for as long as they have through this book series!

– Amory, Amazon Review

Really enjoyed books 1, 2 and 3. Couldn't put it down. It is written so well you become part of the story. Loved it. Bring on the next 20 odd books. Can't wait!

– Amazon review

I have rarely known such richness and depth of psychology in nearly anything I've read, let alone anything Arthurian.

– Steve Gladwin, author of The Seven

"Too often, Arthurian characters become stick figures in modern retellings, but that is far from the case here.

– Tyler Tichelaar, Author Children of Arthur

"Makes the Arthurian legend readable and relatable for us."

– Alex S., Amazon Review

"If you weren’t fascinated by how Telek depicted Merlin in the first novel, I guarantee you will be here… What is fascinating about the novel is not the plot, but the psychology of the characters as the chain of events unfolds… Telek has created the most real and sympathetic version of Vortigern to date."

– Tyler Tichelaar, Author Children of Arthur

Copyright © 2023 Scott Telek

Smashwords edition

This is a work of fiction. The characters are in the public domain or invented from the author’s imagination. The base of the story is drawn from works in the public domain and enhanced by the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved under domestic and international copyright. Outside of elements drawn from the established source legend, all new story elements and characters are invented by the author and protected by copyright. Outside of fair use (such as quoting within a book review), no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the express written permission of the author.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9996773-8-4

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9996773-7-7

Swithen ‘S’ design copyright © 2023 Scott Telek

Cover design by Scott Telek

Tower photo reference Scott Telek

Baby photo reference Unsplash

www.theswithen.com

Facebook: TheSwithen

Instagram: theswithen

Twitter: @TheSwithen

4R

This book is dedicated to my mother, Gretchen Telek.

Table of Contents

Sources

Part One: Seed

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38

Part Two: Sprout

39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64

Part Three: Growth

65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86

Part Four: Flower

87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100

In the Next Book

Legend to Novel Comparison

Sources

The mission of The Swithen is to honor the original Arthurian legend by maintaining strict fidelity to the source literature, while fleshing out characters and scenes to make the thoughts and emotions of the characters clear to modern readers.

This novel is adapted from The History of the Kings of Britain, by Geoffery of Monmouth, of approximately 1150 A.D., Wace’s Roman de Brut of 1155, Layamon’s Brut of 1190, The Story of Merlin from the Post-Vulgate Cycle, written between 1215 and 1235, and the Prose Merlin of 1450.

---

Now Available

The Sons of Constance: The Swithen Book 2

Merlin serves three successive kings while setting the pieces in place that will result in the conception of Arthur.

The Void Place: The Swithen Book 3

Merlin destroys two lives to create one—but that one is the future King Arthur. Meanwhile, a sword appears in a stone, unable to be drawn by any but the future king.

The Flower of Chivalry: The Swithen Book 4

Arthur’s sense of justice develops through the pains and joys of his childhood, until his path leads him to encounter the sword in the stone.

Wonderly Wroth: The Swithen Book 5

While Britain’s leaders debate making a king of a teenage boy, Arthur is put into training with the knights who served his parents.

The Future of The Swithen

Book 6:

Arthur must wage war on those who dispute the reign of a teenage king and receives the sword Excalibur.

Book 7: 

Arthur forms the Knights of the Round Table, romances Guinevere, and begins constructing Camelot.

Book 8: 

Balin le Savage’s unlucky adventures leave the country under a curse that can only be repaired by achieving unity with the Holy Grail.

Book 9: 

Arthur marries Guinevere, and his knights depart on three mystic adventures.

Book 10:

Morgan Le Fay makes a daring attempt to destroy Arthur and claim his throne.

Book 11: 

The childhood of Lancelot in the Lady of the Lake’s hidden matriarchal society.

Book 12:

Lancelot joins King Arthur’s court and embarks on the adventure of the Dolorous Guard.

Book 13:

A mysterious new knight, Beaumains, is entrusted with a crucial adventure, while Sir Gawain fulfills his promise to the Green Knight.

Book 14:

Lancelot is torn between love for Guinevere, King Arthur’s wife, and fellow warrior Galehaut, the Lord of the Distant Isles.

Book 15:

Lancelot becomes ensnared in an affair that results in the birth of Galahad.

Book 16:

Lancelot wanders insane as Percival searches to bring him back and heal the court.

Book 17:

Over the course of one day, mysterious adventures unfold and the quest for the Holy Grail is enjoined.

Book 18:

The knights depart to seek the Holy Grail while Arthur and Guinevere’s marriage is in ruins.

Book 19:

The knights encounter death, destruction and despair as they seek the Holy Grail.

Book 20:

The few remaining knights stumble back to Camelot as three knights encounter the Grail.

Book 21:

Lancelot is drawn into a relationship that leaves Guinevere furious and another woman dead.

Book 22:

When Guinevere is kidnapped, Lancelot departs to save her while Arthur’s jealous rage grows.

Book 23: 

When Guinevere’s affair is finally exposed, the kingdom collapses and the aged Arthur goes to war.

Book 24: 

The distraction of the war allows Arthur’s bastard son, Mordred, to seize the throne—and Guinevere.

Book 25:

The death of Arthur.

Keep updated on new books and insights about the series at www.theswithen.com.

Part One

-1-

The long, wavering line of a wave glowed fiercely as it traveled across the black lake of fire. The surface was covered by a burnt expanse of broken coals, while the blazing bright orange crest rolled slowly, revealing the reaching arms and anguished faces of burning people. Their flesh glowed like embers, sending shimmering beams of light through the echoing chasms.

As it passed, it illuminated the faces of a group of devils who hung upside down in a circle above. They had deep green, hairy bodies with bony limbs and leathery skin, folded wings clinging tightly to their backs. Each had a cleft down the middle of his forehead, with pronounced brows and protruding horns.

Look how sad our empty lake looks, one of them said, with millions of souls where there used to be billions.

I can barely sleep without the screaming, said another. Who can endure the quiet?

When His son came to Earth—

Don’t say His name! hissed a devil.

And redeemed them all….

All those damned before He came, only four hundred years ago.

Now the souls we deserve are washed in water, and once done, we have no power over them unless they damn themselves through evil works.

We no longer take. We only tempt.

Even then, all they must do is repent, and once again, they’re lost to us.

For a moment, nothing was heard but wailing and dry scraping as their hardened claws scratched their hairless heads.

One of them had not spoken. He hung silent, bony finger over closed lips. Now he lifted his hand, and his raspy voice sounded.

But what if we, too, had a man on Earth?

The others fell quiet.

A man of our kind? Who could speak with our cunning and have knowledge, as we do, of things done and said and all that is past?

The others turned their heads to him, eyes narrowing. Only shrieking screams from another wave of condemned souls filled the air.

He could deceive people, a devil said. Cause them to turn from redemption.

If he knew the private past of each person, he would be believed in anything he said.

He could turn people against their faith.

One gestured to another. You could do it.

I convinced Vortigern to marry the Saxon Queen, allowing Pagans to stream into Britain, he said, but I have no power to sow seed in mortal woman.

I know one who does.

That devil was with them in a thought. He was large and fearsome, with bulbs of muscle under leathery skin. He knew at once the idea they had conceived. It caused his bumpy lips to widen over yellowed teeth.

I have one in mind who will do everything I ask, he said. She is the wife of a wealthy landowner but has strayed from her faith to worship jewels and earthly things. She has three girls, the eldest of whom is not faithful but pure of heart.

It is she who should become the vessel.

A wide, toothy grin swept his companion’s face. It will be sweet to watch her disgust.

Now all the devils laughed, hoarse cries echoing through the vacuum of mind and spirit. Then the one with ability to conceive a mortal child unfolded his wings and swept them down, pulling himself up and out of the group.

He rose in a spiraling movement, up and out of the underworld, through the emptiness of space, to the sphere of Earth. Upward and upward he continued, tail flicking behind, to the small green island called Britain.

-2-

Adhan sat on the stone wall, dreamily watching the swallows arc and dive over the darkening fields. The amber light of the lowering sun caught the wings of insects as they rose out of the verdant crops. Her sisters, Annis and Raisie, had gone home, but she waited for her father to finish work. He always chastised her for staying close to the dangerous forest when sunset came, but there was never any denying he was pleased to see her. She enjoyed being known as the affectionate, thoughtful daughter.

Annis was the fun but sweet girl, and Raisie, the youngest daughter, the most charming when she wanted to be. There was also a brother, Malin, the youngest child, at ten.

Her father came down the path accompanied by two workmen. They patted his shoulders as they split to a different path, saying, Good night, Merlin. He waved goodbye, then saw her, stopping to make an exaggerated sigh with sagging shoulders, although his downturned face couldn’t hide a smile.

Adhan’s hazel eyes were slightly too far apart, which initially made her look a bit homely, but soon became one of the things that endeared people most. Her head was covered with light brown hair that framed her face, while her full cheeks and curling lips conveyed a wise reserve. She looked as though she had a secret, that she understood something others didn’t. Some who didn’t know her took her to have airs, but her empathy, patience and generosity were enough to win the affection of those who were thoughtful and showed respect. Others, she didn’t care about. Her shoulders were wide and sturdy, as were her hips, which only grew wider and stronger as she continued to grow.

Darling, it’s nice for you to wait for me, but you shouldn’t, not so close to the forest, her father said, panting lightly.

This is the most sensible place to wait, she replied. Right by the path.

I'm serious, now. It’s dark in there, and you don’t know who could be waiting.

She scooted off the wall and stood, turning her eyes toward the forest. It did look dark then, darker than usual. The spaces between the trunks seemed filled with shadowy hiding places. She put her arm around her father. I have you to protect me.

It’s getting so I’m not much protection for anyone, he said, stopping to cough. Let’s get home, it still gets chilly in the evening.

They made their way back, along fields lined with stone walls, until they came to the place where the trees cleared and they saw their small town. It stood on a hill that raised it above the ring of its surrounding wall, four towers at equal points around its length. The sky behind was growing pink, dotted here and there with swooping birds. Father and daughter entered the open space within the wall, chatting affectionately as they strode through the grassy space to where the buildings began. Soon they entered the close inner streets and found their way home.

As they approached the door, a cacophony of voices was heard within. Her father turned with a weary glance. I was hoping for a quiet night, he sighed.

I hear it! Malin shouted as they opened the door. It’s from the ground.

It’s not, it’s from the corner! Raisie squealed, pointing to the ceiling.

Both circled each other, Malin stomping with high, exaggerated steps. Annis crept around the room, head turned, listening, while her mother sat against the wall, flicking an earring between thumb and forefinger. Annis turned to Adhan with delight, clasping her hand and leading her into the room.

Do you hear it? she asked.

Hear what? their father asked grumpily.

There’s a ringing, Raisie said. Don’t you hear it?

We’re going to find it! Malin shouted.

Adhan tilted her head to listen. She heard nothing at first, especially under the sounds of her noisy family. She raised a hand. Let me listen.

The children quieted. Her father bent to grasp the black wooden crucifix on the floor, stepping over to hang it on the wall.

That’s fallen twice already, Annis said.

I do hear it, Adhan said, widening her eyes. She then straightened. Is someone playing a joke?

We’re all right here in the room, Raisie said. Doesn’t it sound like it’s from upstairs?

I can’t tell where it’s from, Adhan replied. Is it whistling from the fireplace?

But it doesn’t sound like whistling, Annis replied.

Malin ran over to the fireplace and stuck his head in, shook it, then ran back.

Are you sure none of you are doing it? Adhan looked around to see everyone’s feet.

It’s like after a bell has rung, Annis said, sitting on a rug-covered bench.

Out of there, I need to sit, their father said, shooing the girl away. I don’t hear a thing. Do you hear it? He turned to his wife.

No, she said tonelessly. Her finger pushed against the polished stone of her earring.

Adhan sat in a wooden chair at the dining table, which stood between the living area and kitchen in the large front room, the stairs just behind it. The sound would rise to odd crescendos and fall to a low hum but never completely fade. The mood in the room was happy, with Raisie running past her into the kitchen, then half up the stairs to find the source.

Malin marched back and forth behind her, hand running over her shoulders. Ah-dahn, Ah-dahn, Ah-dahn, he sang her name.

Something in the ringing sound unsettled her, made her stomach tighten. She tried to maintain a smile.

It’s only the wind, her mother said.

Adhan turned her head suddenly. Was there someone in the kitchen? Only a shadow, but she thought she saw movement. When she stood to enter the living area, the black crucifix was upside down in front of her. She bent to the floor and picked it up.

That just doesn’t want to stay on the wall today. Annis smiled.

-3-

He knew he shouldn’t have brought the boy.

Why won’t you say there were dragons?

Why do you want me to say what’s not true? Vortigern replied.

Why can’t you admit you don’t know? Vortimer asked. He was only ten years old at the time. His hair hung over his light brown eyes, cheeks sprinkled with pale freckles.

This was years earlier, when Adhan was only ten. Vortigern’s story starts eight years before Adhan’s, and Adhan’s story happens over two years toward the end of Vortigern’s.

Son, Vortigern sighed, letting an open hand hang in the air, it’s up to me to teach you what’s right and correct. To tell you something I know is wrong—

But you don’t know it’s wrong.

Vortigern’s gaze rose to the ceiling of the carriage as he hung still. He was a tall, lithe man in his early thirties with handsome features calcified into an expression of weary cynicism. He wore a trim beard and had dark brown hair that brushed his shoulders. He had been around the royal court his entire life, the past ten years as seneschal, closest assistant to King Constance.

There were no dragons. There are no dragons. It’s a story.

It says that Lludd buried the dragons at Dinas Emrys because of the scream that came every May Day and made all the women miscarry and men lose control of their limbs. It’s history. It happened.

Vortigern rolled his eyes. It’s hardly history, and it didn’t happen.

Then why would there be this story? the boy asked. That everyone knows?

It’s a folk tale. It’s a way to teach people lessons by talking about things that aren’t real. In this case, it’s about invaders from elsewhere trying to take over our country.

The boy blinked. It doesn’t say anything about invaders.

It says the white dragon is from a foreign land.

So?

So it represents a foreign people. It’s intended to illustrate a lesson for people who can’t read.

Vortimer scowled. Vortigern huffed out and gazed at the trees passing. Why did he bring the child? He needed to concentrate. He was always trying with Vortimer, and the boy never responded the right way.

So why do they make up a story of a dragon if it’s invaders from another country?

Because the commoners are stupid, Vortimer, the father said. They’re stupid. That is why we are the leaders, and you will be, he held an open hand toward the boy, a leader. We can read. We are educated. They only understand, his nose wrinkled, roots and cabbages. And made-up monsters.

His son stared at him in mild outrage. It’s not very nice for a leader to say his people are stupid.

"It’s not nice, Vortigern agreed. But I value honesty over trying to make everything nice and sweet. Which is a good quality in a leader."

So then what’s the point of making up this dragon story?

It’s so the people can feel pride, which keeps them producing. Keeps them working. They believe that the Welsh spirit, that’s the red dragon, is down there buried with the white dragon, and it’s, he shook his balled fist with exaggerated motions, just getting stronger and building up, and it’s going to conquer, and this functions to inspire the people, he gestured out the window, to continue working and producing. But it’s just fiff-faff, really. And those of us who lead the people, he gestured to himself and Vortimer, know that, but use it to help the people do what is best for them. He smiled. Which is working.

Vortimer continued looking at him with scowling eyes. That’s so…. His voice trailed off, but he continued staring at his father.

Cynical, Vortigern supplied. He nodded. Later, you might also see it as realistic and intelligent. He turned to look out the window. Now, Father has to think for a while, it’s very important what happens at the abbey. He turned back to smile at the boy long enough for him to understand he was to remain silent.

Vortimer turned his entire body away and gazed out the window, lips tight.

His father sighed. The boy’s mother would have talked to him endlessly about these dragons and what they might have been like and how terrible the May Day scream was. She would have planned a trip to the hill where they were said to be buried. He could never replace that. But there was no time to think on it now.

The king had been killed, and his heir was a monk in an abbey—the abbey they were headed to.

-4-

Just under an hour later, an hour of Vortimer sitting across from his father, gazing out the window, dour look on his face, they arrived at Winchester Abbey. It was then July, and the abbey was surrounded by green leaves that hung still in the humid afternoon. Vortigern had wanted time to think through his strategy but found that he couldn’t; his thoughts circled uselessly in eddies. He would have to improvise. He would often think of that moment in later years, when he heard people speak of how calculating he was. If only they knew.

I’ll be in the abbey, he said as he exited the carriage. You may look around the grounds but don’t stray too far. We may have to leave quite suddenly.

Yes, Father, the boy replied, gazing away.

Vortigern set his jaw as he turned, then stuck his head back in the carriage. Keep in mind if you see any men about, none are allowed to speak to you.

The boy returned the confused look of a pigeon. Vortigern’s face went still. He closed the carriage, then turned to walk the short distance to the abbey door.

He found the abbot and told him that the king had been killed, and he would need to speak to Constant immediately. Vortigern spoke in a rushed, urgent tone, as though it was all a terrible tragedy and he hoped only to bring order. This succeeded in flummoxing the abbot, who showed Vortigern to the room where monks were allowed to speak and left him. As he waited, Vortigern jumped up and down in place and breathed rapidly until he became dizzy. He wondered at himself, his natural talent for deceit. It just came to him. He didn’t will it, and usually the less he thought, the more he succeeded. If he’d spent the entire carriage ride calculating how to convince the boy to leave the monkhood, he might not have been able to work up the emotional pitch to convince him he was desperately upset.

The boy was produced with unexpected quickness. One look into the deep pools of his cow-like eyes was all it took to convince Vortigern he would have little challenge. Scant wonder his father had pushed him into monkhood.

Constant’s eyes were wide and blinked frequently. His robes fit poorly over his thin shoulders, seeming to drown him. His tonsured hair made his blue eyes seem even larger, cheeks gaunt, covered by scraggly fuzz, mouth hanging open. It was easy for Vortigern’s face to fall into the sympathetic expression he required.

My child, he said. You know me as seneschal to your father. Do you remember me? The boy looked at him blankly. Do you remember me? he repeated.

Yes, Constant said, voice weak. You were always, he turned his fingers, around.

Close to your father at all times. Vortigern tilted his head, gazing into the faraway distance. Trusted by him. I remember you when you were but a dear child. I have, I’m afraid, he put his hand to his chest, terrible news. Can you prepare yourself to hear it?

Constant shut his mouth and set his brow as though steeling himself. Vortigern was almost rendered speechless. When it became apparent the boy would not speak, he began.

Your father has been killed. By a Pict. The man he trusted most in the world—aside from me—and that man stabbed him like a butcher as they walked in the wood.

He clutched his hands before his chest and twisted his face into an expression of anguish, but the youth did not recoil or gasp.

Instead, his eyes slid to the left. His tongue came out, and he licked his lips. His eyes narrowed.

Vortigern held, eyes intent, still clutching his hands. The boy remained cool and quiet.

As you can imagine, the barons are reeling. The governance of the land is in danger, and no one knows what to do. Vortigern waited for the youth to respond, but his face remained blank. As I'm sure you know, it is a sin to take a monk away from his promise to God. There, the boy finally made an expression. Displeasure curled his lips. And for that reason, your brother Pendragon is being proposed by the archbishop to succeed your father as king.

"Pendragon!" Constant erupted.

Vortigern’s black eyes focused sharply. Yes, he said. It seems wrong, does it not? At least, he closed his fist and held it over his heart, it seems wrong to me.

He’s six years old! Constant said.

Vortigern nodded. That is what it has come to. And that is, I fear, exactly what will happen. Unless…. He held out an open hand.

Unless what? the youth asked at once.

I told them, well, the older man began pacing, "I insisted. The succession must go to the eldest son. It must go, he turned, flaring his eyes, to you."

Constant’s eyes widened. His fingers clutched his temples as his mouth fell open.

Except that, with your vow, and, Vortigern’s brow nettled as he shook his head, the unshakable strength of your commitment to God, by all indications, this child will take the crown, for I know you could never bear to be parted from here.

I hate this place, Constant blurted.

Vortigern was turned away, where he remained, face toward the wall. His stare all but burned through the bricks. Taking a moment to ensure his lips held no trace of smile, he turned, eyes wide.

You do?

My father forced me to be here. I never wanted it. I don’t want to be a monk. I hate it.

Vortigern covered his joyful gasp by skewing it as shock. He turned again, as though reeling from the news, recomposing his strategy. He turned to the boy.

Of course you do, he said. You are born for far greater. He reached out and let his hands hold Constant’s forearms. Do you not feel that?

I always thought so!

You are meant to be king. Do you think… his mouth fell open, could that be the very reason your father installed you here?

Probably, Constant said with sullenness. He didn’t think I was smart enough to be king.

No! Vortigern gasped. I won’t believe it!

He did, Constant said. He said so.

He tried to stifle your greatness.

He didn’t think I could handle it.

Perhaps he was afraid of your ideas.

The youth hung silent, eyes glancing away.

Here is the point. I was close to the king, confidant to his wishes—

He didn’t wish for me.

And I could say, Vortigern continued, that he insisted on you—

He told anyone he could find that he didn’t.

"Could I speak for a moment, please? I could say that he did, maybe late in life. Yes, late in life he insisted you be king. And the fact is, you are next in line to be king. With my backing, Vortigern gestured to himself, we could get you in there—and out of here. If you agree."

Constant’s eyes lowered, and he eyed the shadows of the dank room. I would do anything to get out of here, he muttered.

You could be gone in moments, Vortigern said and held a beat. But I would have to know that I would be protected when you form your court. I am taking a great chance for you, you know.

Constant stared at him without comprehension.

And I’d need to know that I would receive a position, in your court, commensurate—and with the compensation, he looked at the youth’s blank eyes, "with the money that goes along with that position."

You want to be rich if you make me king.

How can you imagine I care about anything but the sanctity of this kingdom—and the proper line of ascension? Vortigern gasped. I ask not for riches, only to be rewarded for the risk I am taking. Do you know they ordered me not to come out here and find you? Archbishop Gosselyn? They would be happy to see you rot in this hellhole, he caught himself, lowered his voice, than ascend to the glory that awaits you as the rightful king of Britain!

But I know nothing of being king, Constant said. It sounds… well, it sounds incredible, but also, he cringed, terrifying.

Oh, little but a bunch of dinners and decisions. The actual king barely does anything, anyway. It’s all his advisors, of which I am the lead. I’ve been at your father’s side all these years. There’s nothing I don’t know about.

The boy’s eyes widened and fixed on Vortigern. You could help. You—stay with me. You, he pointed, tell me what to do.

Vortigern’s long fingers reached up to grip the ball of his chin as his head tilted. Of course. Of course. You install me in the palace with you, you give me an allowance commensurate to my station, and I will be at your side every day. He shook his head in wonderment. You couldn’t make a false step!

Then I could be, Constant’s eyes scanned the room, rich. I would be in the palace, eating what I want, doing what I want.

Enjoying all the maidens you want, Vortigern added.

Oh! Constant said. Oh!

More than here, certainly, Vortigern added with a smirk. More than you could imagine. Look at this. He pulled from a bag he had brought a very vibrant robe of rich blue, lined with white fur along its edges.

Constant’s face melted. His hand reached out to let the garment run through his fingers, exhaling as he did. It’s so soft.

You will wear things like this every day, not that drab…. Vortigern’s shaking finger indicated the monk’s cowl.

I never want to see this thing again, Constant said. He pulled it off himself and flung it from his hand.

You won’t have to, the seneschal replied.

I want to wear that now, the boy said, reaching toward the blue robe.

Vortigern beheld him with a glimmer of amusement, then reached out his arm.

-5-

Yes, her mother said.

Adhan stood, hand upraised, outside her mother’s closed bedroom door. She had come to knock but heard talking within. Her mother talking. Her forehead wrinkled in concern.

I would like that very much, her mother said.

Her father was out, as was Raisie. She had just left her sister and Malin downstairs. Who could she be talking to?

If you take away the things that belong to him, her mother said, he would become distraught.

Adhan knocked.

From inside, a sudden scuffle. Something fell over.

Adhan tried the door. It was locked.

Her mother said nothing. It’s me, Adhan said brightly.

What is it? came from behind the door.

We’re going to a story round at Arley’s, said Adhan.

Her mother said nothing.

We’ll probably be late for dinner, but if you save some, we can eat when we get back.

A long pause. Fine.

Can I come in?

Why?

Adhan’s head drew back. The skin around her eyes wrinkled. I want to kiss you goodbye.

A silence. Then a shuffling movement. The door unlocked.

It didn’t open, so after a moment, Adhan turned the knob, pushed.

Her mother was across the room, near her dresser, where some of her jewels lay. She stood stiff and erect, saying nothing.

Who were you talking to?

There’s no one here, her mother replied. Her eyes were wide but without expression.

Adhan opened her mouth to ask again but didn’t want to press. Her eyes lowered, and she walked across the room to kiss her mother’s cheek but, halfway there, whirled suddenly.

That corner of the room was empty. Adhan’s hand rose to touch her chest, breath coming quickly. Her eyes searched the shadows of the room. She turned to her mother.

The woman’s eyes regarded her coldly.

She felt so clearly someone was there. Adhan waited, then decided to just kiss her mother and get out. She almost ran the distance to her, kissed her cheek while her mother did not react, and said, See you later.

She bolted to the door, closed it. Her mother hadn’t moved. Her eyes still stared.

The hall felt perceptibly safer. She breathed in deeply, hand on her chest. What was it? In a moment, she caught her breath, shook her head, and moved down the hall toward the stairs. As she did, she heard her mother’s voice again.

"She is beautiful."

-6-

On the way home, once the stories were finished, Adhan was quiet while Annis was smiling and laughing, adding bouncing steps while walking, offering lingering glances